


blinding lights

by 0neType, LyraLV



Series: a taste of sunshine [3]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Aftercare, Alternate Universe - Dreamtale (Undertale), Alternate Universe - XTale, Banter, Blow Jobs, Dirty Talk, Explicit Consent, First Time, Gentle Sex, Grinding, Kissing, M/M, Making Out, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Penetrative Sex, Pet Names, Praise Kink, Smut, Undertale Multiverse, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:47:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28474152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/0neType/pseuds/0neType, https://archiveofourown.org/users/LyraLV/pseuds/LyraLV
Summary: Cross wants something from Killer. What exactly that is he's not entirely sure of himself. Not until Killer catches him off guard yet again.
Relationships: Cross/Killer, Kross - Relationship
Series: a taste of sunshine [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1616464
Comments: 22
Kudos: 232





	blinding lights

**Author's Note:**

> 💗💜
> 
> This is canonical to the ATOS timeline and set roughly one year before the events of ATOS. Here marks the official start of Killer and Cross' relationship. 
> 
> Just a little fluff and a mini break from the current storyline ;w; Enjoy!

Cross would like to say something poetic—something straight out of one of those flowery paperbacks that Nightmare pretends he doesn’t have adorning his shelves—like maybe that they ‘fell into bed in a tangle of limbs,’ but the truth is far from anything that saccharine. In all honesty, Killer pushes him onto the mattress so hard it nearly winds him. He barely has time to recover before Killer follows, kissing him messily and leaving Cross no time to get his bearings.

To call it uncoordinated is to be polite about it. Their teeth clack at least a dozen times, making Cross wince at the grating pressure and pain, and his cape wraps itself uncomfortably around them, making it a struggle to get free. None of it is strictly very sexy. Still, the heat between them is real and enticing, and as Killer shucks off his jacket, Cross struggles with his own thick coat, eyes half-closed as he continues to lick into Killer’s mouth.

All in all, it’s not exactly the sort of first time Cross had ever imagined for himself.

Killer rolls his hips, and Cross is immediately caught off guard, a moan startled out of him before he can even attempt to hold it back. Luckily, it folds easily into Killer’s mouth, carried onto his tongue and swallowed down as he nips and bites at Cross’ in return. It’s a heady feeling, a certain thrill in trying to restrain himself but inevitably losing control, bit by bit.

It’s better now that they’re both pinned in one place, not trying to grasp and tug at each other down the hallway like they had been moments earlier. It’s more pleasurable and less pawing at each other blindly, hungry for touch. The heat builds, incessant, and when Cross finally works his arms out of his coat, it sings in his soul, every inch of it a post-battle rush of victory.

“Hurry up,” Killer pants against him, and like clock-work, a familiar bubble of irritation grows inside of him.

“If you’ve got somewhere else to be, by all means go right ahead. Don’t let me stop you.”

Killer laughs, “Don’t be such a drama queen, criss-cross. I’m just impatient for a good fuck is all. Nothing personal.”

The implication being that Cross would be a skilled partner for that.

Hah.

That more than anything is what keeps Cross tongue-tied. He hates the nickname and Killer’s blithe tone, but any argumentative words dry up at the expectation in Killer’s voice. Cross ignores the nervous energy that floods through him, focusing instead on the pulsing of Killer’s too-bright soul. It’s easy to get lost in it’s uniqueness, red and circular and sharp like a saw-blade whirling too fast to see the edges.

He swallows and tugs at Killer’s sleeveless turtleneck, yanking him forward for another messy kiss, relishing the way the other skeleton groans into his mouth. There’s a surge of pride in the obvious way Killer enjoys Cross’ mouth on him. A pleasure in being able to pull those noises from him purely in the way he sucks on his tongue. This, at least, he knows how to do right.

“ _Fuck_ , stop.” Killer breaks away with a slight push and, for a second, Cross is worried he’s done something wrong. But then Killer backs up and reaches down to cup the front of his shorts, and all at once Cross’ face burns bright with the colour of his magic, even as a tide of it redirects downwards. Killer grins at him, and it feels like a warning. “So, what’ll it be, hero?”

Killer rubs along his pubis relentlessly, his phalanges obviously skilled, bleeding the resistance from Cross little by little. He doesn’t even know what he’s holding back for, he wants this after all, but it’s too difficult to just let go—to just let his magic take shape as the friction builds from Killer’s hands on him.

“Come on,” Killer purrs, “What are you wanting? I ain’t got a preference, so I’ll let you choose.”

“I—I don’t—I’m not—”

He’s babbling. It’s embarrassing, and Killer snickering at him for it is even more so. But even though it infuriates Cross, his impromptu partner doesn’t seem put off, continuing to stroke him perfectly, his magic roiling and desperate to form. He doesn’t know how to admit that he’s never actively _chosen_ before. He can’t put his mind to a shape—he usually just lets things… happen.

He’s hoping he won’t have to say. That Killer will keep touching him till his body chooses what it wants most, and he can just pretend that it’s what he intended all along. In fact, it seems like it may work out in his favour just like that when Killer _tsks_ with impatience and tugs Cross’ shorts down, exposing his flushed pelvis to the cool, castle air.

The purple of his magic is brilliant in the dim of the room, matched only by the gleam of Killer’s grin and the sharp flare of his soul as he drops his head down and _licks_. It startles a gasp out of Cross, loud, and all at once his magic forms, wet and giving under Killer’s tongue. The bastard doesn’t even give him a second to adjust, licking into the slick opening beneath him and curling his tongue far too close to Cross’ clit before drawing back.

Killer wipes at his mouth. “Made your choice then?”

“Get on with it,” Cross says, rough.

Killer rolls his eyes—or that’s the impression his sigh and particular tilt of head give off, anyways. His sockets themselves are as blank as ever, black liquid pouring out of them even now, dripping into his turtleneck and probably absorbing into the material.

Gross.

He does as asked though, and in short order, Killer’s bottoms are on the floor, and his dick is filling up Cross’ vision, making his mouth go dry. He’s not as big as Cross is, but he’s never had anything more than his own phalanges inside him, so already it seems like too much. Cross bites back any protests that might give him away as Killer leans closer to him and casually rubs the length of his cock along his wet folds.

Cross nearly jumps at the sensation, back arching and fists gripping tight to the sheets, teeth clenched to keep his voice contained.

“Damn, how long has it been for you?” Killer chuckles. “You’re so fuckin’ sensitive, it’s like you’ve never even done this before.”

And this is where Cross makes his mistake.

It would be easy to move past this conversation. Killer means nothing by it, obviously. He’s running his mouth like he always does, keeping the conversation going, filling up the lull with stupid words as he rubs his cock more firmly against Cross’ pussy, spreading his lips open around his length and choking Cross on a moan. It would be simple to tell Killer to shut up, glare at his responding snicker, and get right back to business.

But Cross…

Cross lets the question hang. He stays silent.

And Killer notices.

“... Cross.”

He refuses to respond, focusing instead on how electrifying it feels to be wanted like this. To be wet and aching to be filled and knowing relief is within reach. For so long, he’s gone without. He’s never had the time—the connections—the opportunity—but _now_ —

He cants his hips down and tries to push himself onto Killer.

The skeleton in question pulls back and then moves away entirely, shifting up until his shadow looms over Cross. It’s easy enough to feel his stare, piercing as it is, but he can’t bring himself to meet his gaze.

“Cross, hey, look at me.”

He can feel the way his face grows hotter, embarrassment overtaking the initial flush of lust. It takes a moment to gather his nerves enough to shoot a glare in Killer’s direction.

“ _What?_ ”

“Have you?” Killer asks, serious in a way Cross rarely ever sees him. “Done this before, I mean? You have right? You… you’ve definitely…?”

It sounds like he’s trying to convince himself but not quite managing it.

Cross doesn’t say a word, damning his prospects with the silence.

Killer’s face falls.

It’s impossible to maintain eye contact after that. Cross doesn’t want to see the rejection on Killer’s face, the mirth at his expense because he’s not experienced in the way the others in the castle seem to be. Finding the courage to go along with Killer’s infuriating teasing and convince himself that Killer actually wanted him was something Cross had struggled with. He’s not used to the attention—or at least, not attention that doesn’t in some way backfire on him.

But it’s backfiring anyways, isn’t it? And he was idiotic enough to think Killer actually gave a damn about him, even if it was more for his usefulness in bed than anything else.

So much for clinging to that false hope.

Another problem surfaces, however, when Killer begins to lean away, pulling Cross’ gaze back to him. He realizes a bit desperately that he doesn’t want Killer to go.

“Fine,” he snaps, trying to hide his embarrassment behind a glower. “I’m a virgin, okay? Congratulations, you found me out.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Killer says as he sits back on his heels, holding his hands out as if to ward off Cross’ bitter tone. “I ain’t accusing you here or anything. Just a little surprised is all. Why didn’t you say so sooner?”

Cross clenches his jaw, fighting not to glance away again. This is the very last conversation he wants to be having with Killer of all people, but he can’t dodge it now. If he does, Killer might just drop whatever this is altogether, and Cross will miss his only chance at having something… _close_ with his incredibly dubious, annoying, mildly charming teammate.

He doesn’t want to call it intimacy, but there’s really no better name for it, is there? That’s what he’s craving most, and he’s never felt so wanted before. It gives him purpose. It gives him a certain satisfaction he’s been yearning for for a long time.

Cross sighs. Best to be honest here, right? All of his other cards are lying face up on the table.

He shrugs with forced casualness and mumbles, “Didn’t really seem important to mention in the moment. Not like it matters one way or another.”

Despite not being able to see his eyelights, Cross can feel Killer’s weighted stare on his face, undoubtedly searching for any sign that he might not be telling the full truth. Cross never looks away from those empty eyesockets, though it certainly is odd to see the pinched expression he’s wearing. Remorse? Hesitance? He can’t quite place his finger on it, but at least Killer hasn’t abandoned him on his bed yet. Maybe he hasn’t completely ruined his chance.

“It might not feel all that important to you, criss-cross,” Killer says, hands on his knees and nowhere at all on Cross where they belong, “but ‘s kinda common courtesy to, y’know, tell the person who’s gonna fuck you that this is your first time. Keeps everyone on the same page. Helps make sure that your partner knows not to fuck everything up by just diving cock first into things. Gotta warm up the water. Splish splash around. Get things all nice and wet and rea—”

“Yes, thank you, Killer, you’ve made your point.” Cross can almost see his angry, purple blush glowing in the darkened room. He sure can feel it all the way down his front.

His frustration is growing, directed both at Killer because he’s the one being responsible for a change, which is not at all how the multiverse works, and also at himself because he should’ve done what Killer’s saying and been more open about this. Baring himself like that doesn’t come as second nature to him though. It’s difficult just being naked on his own bed in front of the other monster, something that he’s wanted for a while now, even if he’s denied it just as long.

Maybe it’s because he’s gotten used to not getting the things he wants, and chasing his own desires has felt like a fool’s errand. Were it not for Killer’s blatancy about, well, _everything_ —his obvious innuendo and suggestive comments—then Cross isn’t sure they’d even be here. But now it’s within reach, and he wants it so damn much. Enough that he’s willing to admit for once that Killer is right.

Doesn’t make it sting any less.

If Killer’s putting in the effort here to be vocal about this, then Cross should be upfront too.

He relaxes the tense way he’s been gritting his teeth and hopes Killer can see the open earnestness on his face. Bluntly, honestly, he says, “You wouldn’t fuck this up, Killer. I wouldn’t be here if I thought you would.”

Right as he says that, three things happen. First, Cross’ instant regret hits him with ferocity, the realization that his words were way too honest slamming into him like one of Nightmare’s tentacles throwing him into a wall. Second, Killer’s sockets widen, his mouth parting just a bit, though he says nothing. But Cross can hear the sharp inhale, which makes him want to shrink down under the comforter like a child and will away everything, including himself and his mortification.

And finally, probably the most unexpected of all, Killer’s soul shifts in a way Cross has never seen before. The jagged swirls stutter, pulsing and wavering like something bumped into it and distorted the cutting spin. The change lasts hardly longer than a second, but Cross catches it all the same, and it bewilders him. What was that? Did Cross’ words somehow hurt Killer? Or is he becoming more unhinged?

There really isn’t time to process what he saw because Cross hears a very soft but breathy ‘oh’ and suddenly, Killer is crowding into his space once more. He still keeps his hands off of Cross, placing them on either side of him as he stares intently down at his gaping expression.

The room becomes quiet once more, but the tension stirring between them is patently different. Cross listens to his own dry swallow and squeezes the bed sheets in his phalanges.

“So just to recap,” Killer says, his breath warm and his voice playful but firm, “You’re good with me being your first? And there’s no issues you wanna give me a run-down on before we get right to it?”

Embarrassed by the way Killer is handling him so delicately, Cross squirms underneath him. He looks away, glowering into the side, voice tight with nerves. “For fuck’s sake, Killer. It’s not like we’re bringing out the whips and chains. Is it really necessary to clarify over and over?”

“It’s important to me.” Killer is unbudging, unoffended by Cross’ words. He uses one hand to tilt Cross’ chin towards him, angling his face in line with his. Killer’s sockets are blank as ever, but somehow Cross feels struck bare by his gaze. “I wanna make sure that if you change your mind or you just wanna stop, you get that you can let me know, yeah?”

Cross wants to be obstinate. He wants to say that all Killer’s talking has killed the mood and, actually, he’d like to stop right now. But it’s nowhere close to the truth. If he’s being honest, it’s… nice. It’s nice to have all of Killer’s attention on him like this. It’s definitely not at all what Cross imagined when he thought about admitting his inexperience. Laughter, maybe—teasing and prodding for sure—but instead, Killer is being patient and thoughtful and…

Frankly, it renders him a little speechless.

He manages to hold Killer’s sightless gaze as he nods and breathes a slow, shaky, “Yeah.”

Just like that, a switch flips, and the grin Killer gives him is nothing short of salacious. He can’t even heckle Killer for it before the knife-happy skeleton is closing the gap between them and pressing his mouth to Cross’ once more. He makes a muffled noise of protest, but Killer only grins wider, licking his mouth before nipping at it. A part of him wants to refuse, just to spite him, but another far more eager part of him is ready for things to kick up a notch.

The excitement wins out, and Cross parts his teeth and lets Killer lick into him, hot and wet. He’s good with his tongue—with words and like this too. Then again, Cross knows he isn’t half-bad himself. This isn’t the first time he and Killer have wound up pressed against each other, kissing and biting. He knows there were no complaints before, and clearly Killer wanted a repeat performance for one reason or another.

Which is why it’s startling when Killer pulls back from him all at once, sitting up abruptly. He makes an odd picture, shorts off and jacket gone and sideways grin splitting up his face.

Cross barely gets a quizzical noise out before Killer holds up a finger and says, “Alright, now what I want you to do is imagine a water sausage between your legs.”

There’s a beat, the tenseness Cross is feeling slowly replaced by confusion.

When Cross doesn’t respond at all, Killer reaches down between them and lays a careful hand on his magic. “You don’t have to worry about impressing me with your size or anything, just, you know. Do what you’d do on your own. If picturing a water sausage doesn’t get the image right, you could think of a cucumber, or maybe those really long balloons at the fair—”

“I _know_ what a dick looks like Killer,” Cross yells, knocking his hand away, face hot, “And if I ever forgot, I still wouldn’t have to worry because I’m staring right at one!”

Killer glances down at his bare pelvis, bewildered, his magic long dismissed, before realisation dawns on his face. He looks up again and claps his hands over his chest, mock-hurt. “Wow, Cross. Kinda rude to call the guy deflowering you mean names.”

“ _Deflow_ —what the _fuck_ —”

“I just wanna be good to you, my little rose bud.”

Cross pushes himself up to his elbows. “I’m leaving.”

All at once, Killer starts to laugh. Cross wants to yell at him for it, but just watching Killer’s toothy smile makes his resolve crumble. He knows what this is. It’s obvious that Killer is trying to get rid of the weird tension that built up between them after Cross made himself vulnerable. What better way to do that than by reintroducing their usual banter?

It’s stupid, but Cross is… warmed by the gesture. Just a little.

“Why do you want me to make a dick anyhow?” Cross mumbles, laying back down, feeling remarkably more at ease. “I already made a… I mean, you know. I’m already ready.”

“Are you really ready when you can’t even say pussy without faltering?”

Cross rolls his eyelights, though his face heats all the same. Killer just snickers, running a hand absently over Cross’ bare leg, a reminder that he’s undressed as well, in only a black turtleneck of his own. He shivers at the touch.

“It’s not that complicated. I just figured that since it was your first time, we’d really make a show of it, you know? Thought maybe I could blow you before fucking you nice and easy. If you’re into it.”

He is.

Cross is _very_ into Killer’s suggestion.

Still…

“I, uh… I don’t know if I can last that long,” he confesses, feeling his soul squeeze in his chest, embarrassed at how much of himself he’s laying bare to Killer, even without taking into account his physically undressed state.

Killer just tilts his head thoughtfully at Cross, letting his phalanges brush down towards his magic. Cross’ breath catches as Killer drags two fingers carefully against his lips, still slick with wetness and saliva. He rubs there, a slow stroke, very nearly tender. When he leans over to kiss Cross, it feels almost gentle.

Cross doesn’t know what to do with it except respond in kind, pressing into the kiss. They stay like that for a few moments before Killer pulls away and resumes speaking, voice low.

“Who says you need to ‘last?’ We’re not playing any orgasm delay games today. Actually, I think it’d be nice to get you to come a couple times. Two or three at least before the night is over. Yeah?”

Cross tries to repress his all-over shiver at Killer’s words. No one’s ever offered him that before, and Killer sounds like he’s just as keen about his suggestion as Cross feels.

But another uneasy part stirs inside of him at the unfairness of it.

“What about you then?” He asks.

Killer’s browbone lifts. “Whaddya mean?”

“Do you want me to...” He gestures vaguely down at Killer’s magic, still very much aroused, a deep red pool of it waiting in his pelvic crest, and Cross swallows at the abrupt thought of it being fully formed and slowly pressed down on his tongue. “I mean, if you’re getting me off twice—”

“Or three times.”

Cross ignores him even as his cheeks burn hotter. “Shouldn’t we make it, I dunno, fair? Equal? So I’m not the only one who’s...”

He trails off, quickly losing confidence under Killer’s stare. Not for the first time, Cross wishes to hide just so that his embarrassment wouldn’t be blindingly obvious. If only Killer would stop watching him so carefully, Cross might be able to force out something coherent.

He briefly imagines asking Killer to stand and face the wall while they talk, and it makes him snort.

But even as Killer makes an inquisitive sound, Cross clams up again. Rather than dig himself a deeper hole, he just looks up at him and hopes Killer can somehow read his thoughts as he so often seems able to do.

“It’s not a competition, sweetheart,” Killer says at last, his insufferable love for pet names not in any way making Cross’ soul jump. “There’s no keeping track of how many orgasms the both of us get and then putting it on a leaderboard. Trust me when I say the thought of getting you off _really_ does it for me.”

He places both hands on Cross’s knees and then slowly runs them down his legs, leaning closer into Cross’ space with a vicious grin as he does. “I can’t wait to see you come. And I can’t wait to taste you either.”

It’s only because of his years of training that Cross doesn’t squirm around like a fish in Killer’s grasp. He’s holding himself very tense, doing his best to not think about how his magic is throbbing with every low syllable Killer utters. More than anything, Cross wants to follow him wherever Killer leads, hooked on the velvety warmth of his voice and pulled along for the ride, right into his arms.

As if his current state isn’t enough, Cross feels the beginning drips of slick between his legs. He tries to close them, but Killer is there, so close that he’d just have to look down to see Cross’ arousal. It seems Killer is privy to Cross’ growing need because he flashes that stupid smirk of his and then rests his teeth on Cross’ neck.

“Need a hand with it?”

Killer breathes directly on the side of his skull. Cross struggles just to keep his own breathing from stuttering.

He could brazenly tell Killer he’s more than aware of how to change his magic, but it’s apparent that Killer has sniffed out the inexperience Cross has with forming it to his taste. And since the offer has been made, well, Cross would be an idiot to turn it down now and risk needing to outright ask for help later.

“Yeah,” he says in a cracked whisper, and Killer’s answering filthy groan has Cross biting back one of his one. He feels like he could shake apart with how badly he needs this.

Unfortunately, this means Killer retreats from his sprawled position over Cross, and despite his bones feeling thoroughly heated, Cross misses the extra blanket Killer’s own body heat radiates. Sitting up between his legs once more, Killer smiles down at him, sockets lidded.

One of his hands creeps down to Cross’ pussy and cups it, gentle. “I’ll help direct your magic, but the first order of business is makin’ it shapeless again. It’ll be easier like that when you’re not used to switching back and forth on a dime.”

Cross nods, face pinching as he focuses on getting the aching magic to deform and become like a thick cloud in his pelvis once more. It’s difficult because his body protests at being denied that wonderful stimulation Killer could give him, but Cross presses on. He imagines soft purple vapors, wisps in his pelvis, heavy but stirring within, waiting to take on a new shape. All the while, Killer lets go of his pussy and settles for trailing his fingertips along Cross’ pelvis. He suddenly curls and dips them inside, rubbing with intent on the sensitive place Cross didn’t know he had, but it has him gasping in surprise.

The heavy magic ripples. Unused to the weird sensation, Cross makes a pained whimper as it at last gives and becomes an agitated well of pulsing desperation. Once, twice, it flickers, almost taking form once more. Cross hisses through clenched teeth and keeps an iron grip on holding it back despite everything between his legs screaming otherwise.

“That’s it,” Killer croons as soon as Cross appears to have it under control. He sinks bonelessly on the mattress from the tightness he’d held in his shoulders. Already, sweat is on his forehead, and Cross pants like he’s been sparring for hours. Killer never lets up on the gentle rubbing inside Cross’ pelvis, tone incredibly pleased. “Yeah, you’ve got it. Good boy.”

It’s praise Cross wasn’t expecting, but it threatens to make him lose what small control he has. His breath hitches, and Killer’s wide grin stretches.

“Now that you’ve got the easy part down, think you’re ready for the next half?”

Cross blinks up at him. “That was the easy part?!”

Killer chortles, eliciting an irritated grimace from Cross.

“Well, the second half is definitely going to be _hard_ ,” he says with a wink, and Cross groans. Killer laughs brighter, and despite himself, Cross feels his mouth twitch with the start of a grin. He’s never been able to resist a good pun, especially as terrible as that one.

Reining in his snickering, Killer continues. “Like I said, it’s easier to switch back to formless magic for your first coupla times. After that, you should be able to think of a cock or pussy, or even both at once soon as you’ve got enough control, and manifest it in a snap. This time around, I’ll be helping direct the flow of your magic. Considering how horny you are right now, it should follow my lead nice and easy.”

“Can you please just stop talking.” Cross drags his hands over his face, both to show his exasperation and also to hide how much Killer’s clever phalanges teasing the inner smooth bone near his pubis are utterly destroying him. “We don’t have all night.”

“True,” Killer agrees readily, and Cross peers through his fingers with suspicion. “With how randy you are, my guess is you’re set to blow real soon. Think you’ll last long enough for me to take your cock in my throat? Or are you gonna come all over my face?”

“ _Stop already!_ ” Cross decidedly does not yelp, but even as he says it, Killer’s teasing feeds his imagination severely hot images too fast for him to brace. He keeps his palms pressed to his cheeks, trying to cool them in any way and will the blush to disappear.

He’s not... upset. Killer just wriggles past his defenses all the damn time. It makes him hotter than he’s ever been in his life, and he wants nothing more than the bastard to put his money where his mouth is.

Which will hopefully be on Cross soon or else he’s going to die a slow painful death of too much sexual tension.

“Heh,” Killer breathes and finally pulls his hand from Cross’ flushed pelvis. “Alright, I’ll let up a bit. For now,” he murmurs, promising and dark, and Cross swallows back a thin sound.

He cautiously drops his hands, and Killer’s teeth glint sharply.

“How ‘bout we see what kinda heat you’re packing,” he says, and Cross rolls his eyelights.

“Finally.”

Killer says nothing, grin ever present as he slowly reaches between them and pushes two fingers into the haze of magic.

“F-fuck,” Cross gasps, sockets wide as the intrusion pushes his magic and causes it to wrap around Killer’s phalanges and cling. It’s raw, completely overwhelming and almost too much as Killer touches the painfully sensitive area. He barely gives Cross a second to catch his breath before he crooks his fingers and then lightly tugs them back out, drawing Cross’ magic with it.

Cross isn’t aware of the loud moan he gives until he catches the tail end of it. He sounds like he’s in heat, and Cross chokes back all other noises as much as he can. He has to be quiet—anyone walking by could hear them. _Nightmare_ could hear him. The embarrassment is so high, that Cross doesn’t want to think of the disaster that would unfold the next morning when he has to look the others in the face, knowing that they know what he and Killer did.

He tries his best to keep as composed as possible and realizes then that Killer has stopped. Cross stares at him, briefly worried that he did something wrong, but then the stark lust on the other’s face registers, and Cross swallows.

Killer takes in a shuddering inhale, a soft red flush glowing on his own face, and it hits Cross that he’s the one responsible for that. He’s put Killer in that needy state.

“Fuck, that was hot,” Killer breathes—moans—shamelessly. “I wanna hear you make that sound again.”

Here would be the perfect time to say something bold, something dashing, but Cross feels choked, especially when he spots Killer’s magic firm and hard once more. The deep red of it casts a pretty crimson glow against the pale bones of his pelvis, and he can’t help but stare. It takes him until Killer shifts his grip to realise that his own cock has formed fully as well, the colour matching the rich purple flush to his face.

Killer licks his palm a few times, getting it wet before he strokes Cross in hand, his wrist fluid with practice. “Hmm…”

Instant worry sticks in Cross’ throat at Killer’s musing. He knows what Killer said, but somehow he can’t shake the fear that Killer will change his mind and leave him here like this if he finds Cross somehow lacking. He twists his fingers into the bedsheets, gritting his teeth and trying to keep himself from saying something defensive before Killer has even tried to do anything. He focuses instead on how different it feels to be held in someone else’s palm. How odd it feels to have nimble fingers brushing over his sensitive magic, testing his favourite spots with unfamiliarity.

It helps that it’s an excellent distraction. Even with just these light touches, Cross’ cock jumps in Killer’s hold, precome leaking from the tip already. All at once, Killer bends his head forward, tongue peaking out. Cross sucks in a breath. Killer stops, glances at him and waits a minute.

Once Cross has calmed himself a touch, Killer grins in that easy way of his and asks, “You ready?”

It’s all Cross can do to nod, and then Killer is on him.

He resumes his earlier motion, flicking out his tongue to catch the wetness at the tip of Cross’ dick. The feel of him, only for a moment, makes Cross bite back a noise. It’s ridiculous how riled up he is already when all Killer has really done is kiss him and stroke him a few times. Luckily, Killer doesn’t notice how desperately Cross is holding himself back. Instead, Killer drops his head down again and places two wet kisses to his cock—one along the side of his shaft and one to the head. He looks up to meet Cross’ gaze and winks.

Before Cross can follow that with any barb of his own, Killer drops his whole mouth down on him, and Cross _yelps_ , hips rocking up of their own accord. Apparently anticipating such a reaction, Killer keeps a hand steady at his hip, keeping him from thrusting too far. He soothes a thumb over his pelvic crest while simultaneously taking his dick a few more inches, tongue flicking teasingly under his head.

Cross gasps at the stimulation, phalanges gripping tight to the sheets. It seems all too soon when Killer pulls off of him with a slick pop, smiling wide.

“Yeah,” he says, pleasure threaded through every breath. “You taste pretty good, Crossy.”

Maybe it’s the situation they’re in, maybe it’s the high Cross is feeling from the way Killer’s looking at him like he’s someone worth having but… Cross feels enraptured by how attractive Killer looks when he smiles. He’s seen it a dozen times of course—Killer’s standard expression is some kind of twisted smirk after all—but right now, it’s different. There’s a hooded quality to it, something Cross has only seen glimpses of when they’ve pushed each other against walls, kissing and biting before ultimately breaking away. It’s clearly evident now, something deeper than Killer’s usual rictus grin, something more genuine.

Something that has him unable to pull his gaze away.

Killer keeps eye contact as he licks a swathe up from the base of his cock to the tip. Cross throbs in his grip, and Killer squeezes back in promise.

“Can’t wait till you come down my throat.”

“I-I… uh…” It’s a lot; a whole new experience, in several ways.

There’s a sinking feeling in the pit of Cross’ soul as he thinks about how hard he is and how close to finishing already. Killer is only just starting, teasing him through a few light touches and licks, and yet it’s overwhelming for Cross in a bone-deep satisfying sort of way. He doesn’t want to disappoint Killer, but he meant it when he said he didn’t think he’d last.

He doesn’t manage to say any of it, but somehow, like always, Killer reads it on his face. He’s good at that—could match Nightmare with how easily he picks Cross apart.

“Don’t worry, I’m not gonna keep teasing,” he says, reassuring as he runs his fingertips gently over the inside of Cross’ spread thighs. “I only pulled back to say that it’s okay if you wanna hold my head down instead of clutching at the sheets.”

Cross sputters, embarrassment flooding through him at being noticed, but Killer smoothly presses on before he can make a fool of himself trying to work through excuses.

“You can gag me on your dick if you want—thrust up a little. You don’t have to hold back. I like it rough.”

Cross’ cock twitches at that, his breath catching. It’s crazy to him how Killer can just _say_ such filthy things without breaking a sweat. The images his words make in his head are intense, and it has Cross wondering if he could come just thinking about it. He swallows, tongue wet with saliva.

“A-alright.”

Killer’s gives him another one of those pleased, hooded looks, thumb rubbing over the slit of dick. Shakily, Cross reaches out towards him, and Killer easily bends down, taking his cock back into his mouth. As soon as he does, Cross’ phalanges scrape against the back of his head, and Killer hums, appreciative, the vibrations making Cross pulse and throb harder. Killer bobs his skull a few times, tongue working the underside of his dick, flicking beneath the head, then all at once, he flattens it and ducks his head down further.

Cross stutters through a breath, soul hammering as Killer swallows around him, taking him deep. His other hand comes up to grip at Killer’s head as well, holding, not thrusting, not yet.

And then Killer swallows again, and again, till his nasal ridge presses up against Cross’ pubic bone and Cross is breathless with want. It’s hot and wet inside of Killer’s mouth, tight being surrounded by his throat. He feels squeezed so totally, each swallow putting perfect pressure around him. When Killer looks up, sockets lined with the beginnings of tears, exertion straining him, Cross chokes.

He thrusts up all at once, pulling Killer’s head down further into his lap. Killer takes it all, even as Cross inexpertly rocks his hips a few more times, phalanges gripping hard and thighs trembling with effort. He groans aloud, tension uncoiling as he spills into Killer, shivering all over as he feels Killer’s throat work to swallow him down.

It’s good. It’s _so_ good, and it takes Cross a couple moments before the light-headed, blissed out feeling clears enough for him to notice Killer sitting up and wiping his mouth on his wrist.

The look on his face is half-gratified and half-smug. “How was that?”

His voice is fucked-out, low and a little rough. Cross likes the way it fills the quiet around them, likes knowing that he’s the reason Killer sounds like that.

“S’good,” he says honestly, still coming down from the high, “Thanks.”

Killer laughs, bemused. “You don’t have to thank me. We’re not even done yet.”

As if to punctuate his point, Killer crawls closer, leaning over him again, arms on either side of his body. At this angle, he can see that Killer’s own erection hasn’t flagged, and for a moment he wonders if Killer was touching himself while he took Cross into his mouth. His spent cock twitches, a ghost of arousal returning to him at the idea.

He looks back up at Killer’s face, resolution pouring into him with the desire to make Killer feel just as good. It’s a simple matter to wrap his arms around him and pull down. Killer goes easily, and they both moan into the kiss, Cross’ tongue licking against Killer’s teeth.

The more familiar territory bolsters Cross. He may be lacking in experience with everything else, but in this, at least, he knows how to make Killer shudder and clutch tightly to any inch of bare bone. Killer runs his hands down him with hunger, his mouth parting to let Cross’ tongue slip inside and toy with it. Killer drags his teeth along the surface, and Cross exhales a very measured breath.

The new taste hits him first, slightly sweet. Realizing quickly that he’s in fact tasting himself, Cross starts to retract, shy now that he knows the sensation of his own spent magic on his tongue. It seems like something he should be embarrassed about, second guessing his prior enthusiasm, but as usual, Killer doesn’t let him linger in that doubt for long. His eager shamelessness really does help alleviate some of Cross’ concern, and bit by bit, he relaxes back into the kiss. He seeks out Killer’s familiar taste, hidden under his.

This time around, they’re not in a feverish rush with the usual clawing and scratching and biting as their arousal scorches like fire. Cross keeps the kiss unhurried and lax, and Killer puts up no complaint while he follows his lead, though he does nip Cross just a little. When Cross unintentionally lets loose a surprised squeak, Killer’s laugh rumbles between them, and Cross feels it travel through his bones.

To make up for the very mild pain, Killer sucks on Cross’ tongue instead. He’s becoming a boneless pile on top of Cross, like a cat stretching out and making himself right at home, pinning Cross in place. It doesn’t bother him one bit, and Cross welcomes the warmth and closeness with an almost potent need.

He’s unable to hold the kiss forever and finally breaks it to breathe. Cross knows from past experience Killer would happily push on if Cross didn’t move, thriving on the lack of air like it brings a certain high. Graciously, Killer doesn’t jump right back into another kiss, the both of them panting.

They’re so close, almost no space between them. Cross can see every detail of Killer’s face like this, and despite his earlier assessment, the thin trails of ink down his cheeks aren’t entirely unattractive. They’re like tear tracks, as pitch black as Killer’s empty sockets, but they catch the faintest hint of light that makes them shine, makes Cross want to brush a thumb across them to feel it smooth away.

Or maybe he’s just a touch sentimental right now from receiving his first orgasm at the hand of someone else. It doesn’t mean he’ll be forgetting Killer’s gentleness any time soon.

Killer looks at him in turn, studying him just as keenly. The quiet descending upon them is comfortable, a rare lull that lets them savor the moment.

Distracted by the red hue on Killer’s face, Cross almost misses the faintest flicker of light. He looks into empty sockets, and his own widen at the barely visible eyelight glowing dim in one of them. It’s a very thin circle of white, and Cross would be sure he was imagining it if he didn’t stare so intensely.

He watches, and Killer watches back, neither of them saying anything.

Does he know? Does Killer know some small fragment of who he once was still lingers within him?

Cross opens his mouth, to ask or to say something else, he doesn’t know, but Killer takes it as an invitation to resume their kiss. Not really interested in disturbing the mood by his curiosity, Cross goes along with him. Killer slips his tongue past Cross’ teeth this time, deepening the kiss so that its headiness scatters all other thoughts from Cross. It could be a purposeful diversion, but considering how everything else has unfolded tonight, Cross can choose to accept it and allow Killer to keep his secrets to himself. Normally, he might have thought about pushing back, trying to get one up over Killer who often seems two steps ahead. That’s certainly become commonplace for their dynamic. Cross doesn’t want to be an asshole though, especially since Killer really hasn’t been one at all upon finding out that this is Cross’ first time.

The sentiment grows, softening Cross up and making him feel more attached than he has any right to for something that Killer's probably treating as casual.

Determined not to dwell on it, he hooks a leg over Killer’s and pushes down, urging him to close that last minuscule distance. Killer hesitates a moment, the kiss slowing, but then he gives in and rests his cock against Cross’. A curious, tentative roll of his hips causes Cross’ dick to twitch. His interest is spiking again, a readiness for a second round leading Cross to grind back just a little. Testing the waters as subtly as possible.

He feels Killer grin. Swiftly, the air becomes ignited once more with anticipation as Killer grips Cross’ shoulders and rubs their cocks together. Right away, Cross knows this won’t be satisfying enough for them, and Killer appears to think the same because he reaches down and takes them both in hand, stroking their magic, but not too tightly.

“Hey,” Killer breaks the quiet interlaced with heavy panting, “I know we agreed on me fucking you, but just to make sure—you still good with that? Or would you rather keep things like this?”

He gives a deliberate, firm squeeze, and Cross sighs pleasantly at the sheer heat and slick of Killer’s cock on his own.

“I... I still want to try the, uh. The other thing. Please,” he says, and to his credit, Killer doesn’t mock him a second time for not being able to fully verbalize exactly what he wants.

Killer drops one last kiss on his teeth, short and shockingly sweet. “Alright. Let’s do that then.”

He doesn’t look disappointed at all either, and relief rolls over Cross. He keeps anticipating something going wrong, doing something to upset Killer, and he doesn’t know why the thought of that worries him so much. But Killer hasn’t looked disappointed at all since they began—just excited and smug.

Cross won’t ever tell him this, but it’s a good look for him. It sets Cross’ mind at ease and establishes what very well could be trust that Killer fully has him and isn’t going to leave.

With one last parting rub, Killer releases them both, and Cross’ dick starts to feel closer to that constant thrumming ache. Killer shifts back just enough so that he isn’t directly bumping against Cross, letting him focus on changing his magic’s shape a final time.

It’s still difficult forcing it to accept the visualization in his mind. But faster than last time, Cross’ cock turns back into a swirling mix in his pelvis. Killer rubs his pubis with two fingers, providing sorely wanted stimulus that conjures his pussy at last.

Cross isn’t used to another’s touch on him, flustered as Killer wastes no time running those two fingers down his folds, teasingly skirting his clit along the way.

“Damn, you’re pretty,” Killer murmurs, and Cross flushes all over. Killer doesn’t even sound like he intended Cross to hear that, but it’s wildly flattering, and Cross stores away that simple praise to revisit later.

“Kinda wanna eat you out,” Killer continues to mumble, half to himself, “It would definitely get you nice and wet for later.”

The thought of Killer’s mouth on his cunt, like it was just moments ago on his cock, has Cross’ thoughts fizzling in his head. But through the pleasant haze, he remembers how good Killer’s dick felt, rubbing against his own. How warm and thick his magic was, and how much better that could feel buried inside of him. That short moment, at the start of all this, when Killer didn’t know just how inexperienced he was and had started to push into him.

He wants it.

While Killer keeps teasing the idea of making him come three times before the night is over, Cross is already starting to feel drowsy. The adrenaline and high excitement of the moment lingers, but it’s not enough to keep the warm satisfaction from a good orgasm at bay forever. He’s fairly certain that if Killer makes him come a second time, that’ll be it for him.

As awkward as it is to admit, even just to himself, he’d rather end off the night with a mutual climax, instead of being the only one pleasured.

“Alright asshole, I get it already, you’re good with your mouth,” Cross says, going for their usual prickly banter and hoping Killer will meet him halfway. The way Killer blinks at him, sudden and startled, makes him a little anxious. “But maybe save it for next time. Or is that dick just for show?”

Silence follows his words, Killer staring at him, hands still drifting around his pelvis. The embarrassment starts to sink in, Cross’ shoulders curling inward, when finally Killer smirks at him, thoroughly delighted.

“‘Next time,’ huh?”

Instantly, Cross’ blush deepens, trailing down his neck. “I didn’t—I’m—”

“Shh,” Killer whispers, holding a finger up to his teeth while stroking Cross’ bare thigh with his free hand. Cross snaps his mouth shut, not particularly because Killer hushes him, but because his touch threatens to make him moan. “Don’t ruin it, hero. I’ve got you.”

Then all at once, Killer is pushing Cross’ femurs apart, spreading his legs open. He bites back a noise at that, cheekbones heating in a rush as he’s fully exposed like this. Killer stares down at him with a filthy expression, his phalanges rubbing promisingly along the inside of his thigh before drifting back to his own magic.

In a bit of a daze, Cross leers as Killer strokes himself, his dick still pulsing with the bright hue of his magic. He can clearly see wetness at the head of Killer’s cock, watches transfixed as Killer easily thumbs at his head, smearing the wetness over it and then down his shaft. He swallows, soul thumping hard under his ribs. His throat is tight with longing, and it feels like an eternity before Killer grips himself in hand and gets properly in between Cross’ legs.

“Relax, okay?” Killer leans over him, and Cross glares, trying to convey how stupid that advice is without words. It must get across, because Killer laughs before pressing an open-mouthed kiss to Cross’ teeth that he’s eager to return. He focuses on how easily Killer slips his tongue into his mouth, plundering it, instead of the way his cock rubs against his folds.

When Killer starts to drag his kisses down to Cross’ jaw, he takes in a shuddering breath, preparing himself for what comes next. However, the moments pass, and Killer only continues to rub himself against Cross’ slickened opening, getting him wetter and wetter but not making any move to push into him. It’s maddening, his pussy clenching on nothing as the sensations travel to his clit, tingling with barely there pleasure.

“What the fuck are you waiting for?” He hisses, but the anger he’s going for is lost in a sudden gasp as Killer grazes his teeth just barely into the side of his neck.

Surprised, Cross scrabbles at Killer’s back, clawing at him, hips jutting up. All at once, he wants with intensity for Killer to bite down—to mark him—and a rush of arousal pulses through his soul and makes new wetness glisten along his pussy. Killer murmurs something he can’t catch, licking over the hurt, kissing the reddened area as he trails down to his collarbone and then eventually pulls back.

“Sorry.” Killer grins, and Cross barely hears it over the intense ringing in his head, shocked at discovering how badly he’d like it if Killer bit him. But then he notices the deepening flush on Killer’s face and frowns. Killer chuckles lightly. “Got a little side-tracked ‘cause it felt nice rubbing up on you like that.”

Ridiculously, _ridiculously_ , Cross feels immediately flattered by the comment.

“I didn’t mind,” he hastily says, wanting to quell that faint glimpse of doubt on Killer’s face.

And it’s impossible not to hear the way Killer’s breath hitches at that, gaping at him, stunned.

Cross rushes to explain.

“I-I don’t mean I want you to do—I mean, it wouldn’t _bother_ me exactly, just. It’s fine, ok? No need to... no need to apologize or anything.”

Every word tumbles after the next, spoken so quickly that it’s all a jumble and barely coherent. But Cross knows Killer heard him loud and clear because his dick twitches right where it’s pressed between his folds, and Cross can’t help but rock back into it. Killer groans and grabs one of Cross’ hips, holding him in place as they both tremble.

“Don’t tempt me, criss-cross,” Killer exhales shakily. “Not for your first time. Best if we keep things simple this go-round, yeah? But... maybe later, if you wanna give it a try...”

Cross nods, understanding. He doesn’t even know if he really would like to be bitten or if it’s just something that seems good to fantasize about. But they’re both pretty wound tight now, and in order to keep things on track, they should start off small.

Instead of being disheartening, it excites him because he knows now that Killer is just as interested in a ‘next time.’ Assuming all goes well tonight, that is, but Cross’ nervousness about that is ebbing away the more Killer works him over.

This just feels right. It feels good.

Almost too good as Killer resumes his back and forth rubbing along Cross’ pussy. Over and over, the frustratingly teasing movement continues till Cross is damn near ready to plead that Killer do something— _anything_.

“You’re pretty wet now, but I still wanna stretch ya out some.” Killer looks down at the gliding of their magic, and Cross is compelled to as well. He grits his teeth till it hurts, a last ditch attempt to stifle the pitiful whine itching in his throat. He wants this so bad, wants to feel Killer fucking him, filling him up, thrusting into him as Cross cants back and comes on his cock.

He knows he’s not entirely quiet because Killer glances back up and aims an appreciative smile at him. “Just a few minutes of prep. Bear with me, Crossy. You’ll want this.”

Reaching into his inventory, Killer brings out a container and snaps open the lid, drizzling what Cross realizes is a generous amount of lube on his fingers. The sight is surely excessive, and Cross furrows his browbone at the thought of Killer stuffing all of that into him. But then Killer throws another look his way, pointed, daring Cross to either protest or do the smart thing and keep his damn mouth shut.

Cross chooses to keep his damn mouth shut.

Killer flashes him a winning smirk and tosses the bottle casually onto the bed. Fingers glistening with lube, he at last cups Cross’ pussy, one finger circling his entrance. Obviously another tease, but Killer doesn’t keep it up for long before he begins to press in, sinking his phalange into Cross’ wet heat and making him shiver and spread his legs wider.

Killer slowly pulls and pushes his finger inside and out of Cross, and the feeling of someone else doing this to him is unusual. Not bad—but certainly different. Welcome.

“Ok?” Killer asks. Checking in with him.

That stupid warmth in his soul flutters yet again.

“Yeah,” Cross truthfully answers. He already wants more.

Fortunately, Killer doesn’t seem inclined to wait too long, though every movement of his finger is patient as he feels his walls. After a few more moments, Killer introduces another finger, wet with lube and Cross’ own slick. The stretch tingles with just the smallest ache, but nothing that terribly bothers Cross. As he warms Cross up to the sensation, Killer keeps at an even but gentle pace. His arousal hasn’t let up a bit, but he’s still willing to do this extra prepping just to ensure it feels good for both of them.

The third finger creates a more pronounced ache at first. The burn is fast exchanged for something wonderful and blissful and not enough as Killer pumps his fingers inside of Cross and has him fruitlessly concealing bitten-off moans that are worryingly increasing. At one point, Killer pushes in up to the second knuckle and then curls his fingers along Cross’ walls, brushing against a spot that drives Cross frantic.

It’s good, it’s so good, and it’s nowhere near what Cross wants now. He wants Killer inside of him, replacing his fingers with his cock.

“K-killer—”

He sounds spit-choked and heat-stricken, and Killer’s soft curse does more for him than it has any right to.

“Yeah, alright, okay. I’ve got you, Cross,” Killer near babbles, also hit with that lust-addled state. “M’gonna fuck you so good, you’re gonna love this, baby. Just tell me if it hurts or you need me to stop at any point, ‘k?”

Cross slurs a response, much more focused on the pulsing in his clit, and Killer grips his chin and turns his head to look at him directly, firm and demanding.

“Do you understand me, Cross?”

Frozen in place, Cross swallows. “Yeah, I-I’ll let you know.”

“Good.” Killer pats his cheek, leaving smears of slick and lube, and then takes himself in hand, working his wet fingers up and down his hard cock. In short order, he presses the head of his dick at Cross’ dripping, stretched out entrance.

Finally, mercifully, he pushes in.

Cross feels his mouth drop, sockets closing tight as Killer eases into him, thick and hot. They’re both so wet that it’s almost too perfect the way Killer fills him, pushing deep along Cross’ walls so that Cross feels every inch brushing against him. Cross grapples at the sheets, at Killer, at anything that will provide a substantial hold.

It’s _so much_ all at once, so much that’s all overwhelming and forcing Cross to do nothing except grind down as much as Killer will allow him. The hand on his hip is bruising, and Cross loves it.

He can’t tell if Killer’s all the way in yet, but Cross is certain he’s stuffed to the brim, taking as much as he can, but still, he yearns for more.

“K—h-hahh! Killer, please—”

Killer moans as his name spills from Cross’ mouth, desperate, and he holds still.

“Nngh—W-what is it, sweetheart? What d’ya need?”

“You,” Cross sobs, not caring at all how depraved he must sound. “Move, please, more, just—please—”

“Shh shhh, ‘s alright,” Killer hushes him, tugging Cross into a kiss that softens his pathetic needy cries. “Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere. You’re being so good for me, Cross, so lovely. All tight and wet and fuckin’ perfect. I wanna keep you here forever, fucking you again and again till you’re so full of my cum that it spills out.”

The possessive ring to Killer’s words strums a chord within Cross that reverbs deep in his soul. He doesn’t have a single issue with that as long as Killer keeps moving and fucks him so that there’s nothing he can think of but him.

It feels good. There had been a part of him anxious that he’d be too tense to enjoy it, too worked up to think of this as anything but clinical at best, but it feels so good the way Killer uses him, thrusting steadily in and out. He thinks he could probably come just like this, with Killer whispering praise and filth in turn, all of it underlined by something softer than Cross has ever come to expect from him. His body feels warm all over, a building pressure low in his pelvis that tingles and ekes slowly out through his body.

He can’t get over how Killer feels inside him, so full and so deep. Cross wants to pull his legs up, draw them behind Killer’s back, urge him forward and keep him pinned as he fucks into him, but his knees feel shaky, and his thighs tremble, and he can’t move except to urge his hips down to meet each rock of Killer’s hips. His own panting sounds too loud in his head, and when Killer leans down to kiss him and ask if he’s close, Cross only just barely manages to nod his head.

In response, Killer hitches one of Cross’ legs up a little higher, opening him up just the slightest bit further. Not once does he stop thrusting, looking straight down at him with a focused expression. Cross resists the urge to cover his face, well aware that there’s no point when by now Killer has seen more of him than anyone ever has.

He’s so distracted by the way Killer watches him, that it’s a surprise when Killer’s thumb brushes up against his clit. Cross sucks in a breath, hands flying up to grip at Killer’s shoulder and forearm both. There’s a moment where his hand rests on Killer’s, and the other skeleton pauses, like he’s waiting for Cross to ask him to stop. But then Cross slowly lets his hand drift up towards his humerus, and Killer resumes carefully circling his clit.

“I’m gonna come in you, Cross—you want that?”

He feels overwhelmed, blanketed by Killer’s presence in every direction. All he can think of is Killer’s verbal fantasy just moments ago, to keep filling him up until he’s spilling. He swallows, shaky with need.

“Y-yeah,” he says, raw and trembling, “I want it.”

Killer makes a noise at that, so clearly appreciative that Cross allows himself a stray bolt of pride at drawing it from him.

“Okay, then… let’s see just how good you look when you fall apart on my cock.”

The words barely finish registering before Killer picks up the pace, and Cross gasps at the increased pressure inside of him. Killer feels somehow impossibly deeper, each roll of his hips driving further into him. Cross’ pussy clenches, throbbing over and over as the tension in his body winds up higher. Killer’s phalanges rub firmly along the outside where they’re connected, slowly brushing closer and closer to his clit. When at last, the tears start to gather in Cross’ sockets, the stimulation so close to tipping him over, Killer’s skilled phalanges find his clit and start working over him, fast.

It’s like the breath is pulled out of him, his throat going tight and his soul pulsing wildly in his chest. The pressure packed tight in his pelvis erupts, spreading quickly through his body. Cross shakes with it, body quivering all over. And then Killer fucks into him again, and Cross feels the way his cock throbs, spilling into him. His pussy tightens, pleasure cascading over him, body warming at the feeling.

He’s not entirely sure how long they stay like that, but when he opens his sockets again, Killer is panting above him, his forehead resting on Cross’ and his sockets closed.

“You okay?” Cross asks.

Killer’s immediate response is a laugh. Soft and bemused. Without opening his eyes, he whispers, “Pussy so good, it had me breathless.”

Annoyed, Cross shoves at his chest, and Killer bowls over to the side, landing on the mattress next to him with another puff of laughter. Despite himself, Cross starts laughing too.

“Asshole,” he says, a stray thread of fondness working its way into his jibe. Killer hums agreement next to him. And it’s that ease with which they fall back into their usual dynamic that allows Cross to work up the courage to speak again. “Hey, uh… thanks.”

Part of him expects Killer to say something just on the verge of mocking. But the other part of him that’s well aware of how carefully Killer approached this whole situation reads into the silence that grows between them following his words.

After a long, considering pause, Killer turns his head towards him, expression unreadable. “Did you have fun?”

There’s a lot Cross could say here. Something earnest, something snarky, something in-between and non-committal. But the way Killer asks gets to him, and Cross filters all of that down to the barest, simplest truth.

“Yeah. I did.”

“Good.” Killer’s soul flickers again, like it did right at the start, bending out of its circular shape in a curious way that catches Cross’ eye before snapping right back again. When he draws his gaze back to Killer’s face, the skeleton is grinning in a smug, lecherous manner that has long since become familiar. “Wouldn’t want to ruin my reputation as a world-reknowned sex guru.”

“Yeah, wouldn’t want that.” Cross rolls his eyelights, and Killer snickers.

“Knew you’d understand, big guy.”

He rolls up onto his knees then, sitting up straight. Cross has a sudden sharp pang in his soul, realizing that Killer’s planning on taking his leave and traipsing back to his room.

Being left alone so suddenly, especially after what they just did, doesn’t feel right. In fact, it sits unpleasantly in his gut.

“You’re leaving?” He asks, knowing already that he sounds clingy. It makes him cringe, but he also can’t take back what he said. Besides… he wants Killer to stay.

Examining that particular tidbit can wait until the morning.

Killer stares inquisitively. “Er... yeah? You’ve gotta sleep, so...” He stops suddenly, something dawning on his expression.

“Unless you’d rather I stay?”

A double-edged sword. If Cross says no and denies it all, Killer will just shrug it off and leave, probably none the wiser. But if Cross says yes, then Killer will definitely pinpoint Cross’ softer affection, the desire for company and a warm presence next to him in bed. It offers security that he hadn’t anticipated needing, but there’s a resolve in his soul that tells him this is what he needs in this moment.

“I...” He braces himself and musters through with as much conviction as possible. “I mean, I thought you were here to give me the full experience. Kinda seems half-assed if you leave before the typical pillow-talk and shit, right?”

Killer’s still as a statue, nothing in his face giving away what he thinks about Cross’ offer. His soul is caught again in that wavering movement.

Cross can count each second passing by the longer the silence continues. His breath remains trapped in his throat.

Something shifts then in Killer, whether it’s a subtle change in his expression or just the way the frail lighting frames him. But he suddenly unfreezes, reclining back on the bed and tugging the comforter free. He kicks it over both of them and stretches out luxuriously, as if he’s made Cross’ bed his own.

Cross doesn’t dare so much as flinch.

Killer reads his unease with a crooked grin and beckons him over with curled phalanges—the very fingers that were just inside Cross.

“If I’m camping in your bed until you drift off, I expect maximum cuddling. Get over here.”

Cross doesn’t need further invitation. He scoots over as quick as he can without making as much of an idiot of himself as he probably looks. Killer watches on with amusement, the post-coital look on his face painting an incredibly nice picture. It suits him, and with an odd, unfamiliar pang, Cross hopes he’ll get the chance to see it again soon.

For now, he pushes into the space Killer leaves and as Killer wraps his arms around Cross’ back, Cross tentatively loops his own over Killer, very light.

“C’mon,” Killer chides. “Squeeze like you mean it. I’m Horror, and I just stole your last chocolate bar. Dust placed a stuffed cow in your room while you were sleeping. Nightmare—“

“If you don’t want me to break your spine, shut up and go to sleep,” Cross grumbles, but he gets the message and clings a little tighter.

Killer emits a pleased huff, absently rubbing Cross’ back and tucking his chin overtop Cross’ head.

It’s all very... intimate.

It’s probably something that’ll have Cross feeling awkward in the morning and maybe even for a week afterwards, but he pushes that worry away for now. He likes this, he can admit that much at least, though never to Killer’s face.

There’s not much more talking before his weariness finally catches up to him, the satisfaction and general lull of the night’s events creeping up on Cross. Slowly, steadily, he’s pulled into the embrace of sleep, followed by a soft whisper against his head and a delicate kiss pressed there swiftly after.

**Author's Note:**

> **HAPPY NEW YEAR, ALL!!!!!!!!!**
> 
> **Lyra** : It's been one heck of a ride, and to kick off the new year, we brought a little fluff to make things extra sweet :') Looking forward to what this year has to bring ATOS-wise, and I hope you enjoy what we have to share. The next fic will be returning back to the current ATOS timeline and opening with Dream's arc. Should be a blast ;) Thanks for reading!
> 
>  **Type** : Goodbyeeeeeee to 2020 👋 We've been sitting on this fic for literally months at this point gkjdhsd So to anyone wondering, yes, this is exactly the sort of thing we were hinting at in the last few ATOS chapters. With the way Killer and Cross' relationship started, Killer's entirely blindsided by how little Cross trusted him in regards to how he handled Dream. (AKA He's hurt because he thought Cross knew him better than that 😔) BUT IT'S NICE... TO THINK OF THE GOOD TIMES THEY HAD... EVEN IF THEY'RE NOT IN THE BEST PLACE RN :") Here's hoping 2021 is good both to ATOS!Kross and all the rest of us as well hehehe THANKS AGAIN! 💞


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